


Favourite

by Retro_Hussy (betsybo)



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Bullying, Canonical Character Death, Class Issues, Intimidation, M/M, Movie: Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back, Neither Vader or Piett die, Non-Canonical Character Death, Past Violence, Revenge, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 23:07:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29072271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betsybo/pseuds/Retro_Hussy
Summary: Firmus Piett is troubled enough by the risks posed working beneath Darth Vader, but it does seem strange that all the men getting executed recently are those he isn't exactly going to miss.Takes place around ESB events.Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Relationships: Firmus Piett/Darth Vader
Comments: 36
Kudos: 126





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know I should be focusing on Divided rn but this idea overtook my week instead!
> 
> So I posted this prompt on my tumblr here: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/betsybo83/640509317767921664 which was basically: "Piett can’t help noticing that all the fellow Imps Vader’s killed recently were guys who at some stage bullied him for being Outer Rim trash or whatever." Full prompt is on the post but it does kinda spoil the ending (although you've probably guessed it already.)
> 
> Like my other fics this has a lot of made up stuff as I'm not familiar with the extended universe or whatever disney replaced it with BUT I admit I do borrow things sometimes. I have also created a new character (who doesn’t last long) to act as admiral before Ozzel.

Admiral Wilkun shakes his head, looking decidedly fed up. “My lord, I am sympathetic to your frustration but this is like searching for a needle in a haystack!” he says.

“Wrong,” replies Vader. “The rebels are not a collection of inanimate objects. They have needs – they move and communicate. Eventually they _will_ reveal themselves, and we only need to be ready for them.”

Piett stands silently by the door, listening nervously. The conversation has been going on like this for a while now. Essentially they have made no advances in their search, and Vader is asking Wilkun why. Or, more accurately, Vader has had enough.

Ozzel, who has also been listening to the proceedings with a rather sour look on his face, suddenly catches Piett’s eye and scowls. “Are you still here, _Piett?”_ he spits at him.

Piett straightens up at being addressed but doesn’t fall for it. He remains still and looks to Vader instead, who finishes speaking to Wilkun as he turns to the vice admiral.

“In the high-commander’s presence the captain is dismissed on _my_ orders, Ozzel,” drawls Vader, sounding like he rather enjoys it. Piett has grown accustomed to his odd sense of humour and as such he knows that it does _not_ signify a more favourable mood – in fact it’s usually the opposite. Nevertheless he wouldn't mind escaping the uncomfortable atmosphere – he only came here to deliver a status report – but when Vader _doesn’t_ then give him permission to leave the dread in the pit of his stomach rises sharply.

Both Wilkun and Ozzel are too agitated to pick up on the signs. Wilkun shoots his own irritable, almost pained look towards the captain, the one that Piett is sure means he is _remembering_ , although neither of them has ever brought it up. If he _is_ reminiscing, his silence is not out of shame – Piett is certain – although he’s likely aware it wouldn’t cast him in the most flattering light should the story get about. The cream of the best academies may be running much of the Imperial Army at large, but even Wilkun understands that the _Executor_ is not one of his private social clubs.

The same – perhaps – cannot be said for Ozzel, whom very nearly _shrugs_ in irritation, pulling it back only in time to reply to Vader with, “Well – of course, sir. If you need him.”

Vader steps away from Wilkun, almost circling the man as he walks between him and Ozzel towards the exit where Piett still stands in the doorway. The captain makes way for him, stepping neatly to the side just as Vader turns back to the other two. “We don’t appear to be of the same mind, Admiral,” he says, still with that casual mocking that has Piett so on edge. “I have sensed a distinct lack of enthusiasm on your part for a while now.”

_That_ comment visibly lands with Wilkun. He blinks and splutters out, “I – I think we can agree I have _always_ been loyal to your cause!” and then abruptly his face goes white, eyes bulging, and then he’s clawing at his throat.

Wilkun falls to the floor, and Piett spies the high-commander’s outstretched fingers curl in just a fraction tighter.

It’s horribly quiet save for the little cracks and gargles that escape the admiral.

“No, Wilkun,” says Vader. “ _We_ cannot.”

Eyes now bloodshot, and leaning on an unsteady elbow, Wilkun reaches out towards Ozzel – his old friend – but gets not so much as a last look. Ozzel won’t even make eye contact with him, instead favouring somewhere to the left of him as he grimaces. Quaking with the strain of keeping his head up, Wilkun’s gaze shifts to stare wildly in Piett’s direction. A peculiar look overtakes his face – a kind of vague recognition as though he hadn’t known the captain was there – and he opens his mouth as if to say something.

_Just die,_ thinks Piett, trembling himself at the spectacle. _Please don’t let this go on._

As if on command Wilkun promptly slumps, motionless. His head makes such a loud thud that Piett is certain the man must have died before it struck the floor.

“Dismissed, Captain,” says Vader, before he finally sweeps out.

Piett wastes no time turning from the room and trailing after Vader for a few steps while making sure to give him plenty of leeway, until finally the dark lord turns a corner ahead of him out of sight.

He’s grateful Vader dismissed him in the end. His high commander knows how by the book he is, and Piett’s quite certain that not even witnessing an old friend’s murder would have stopped Ozzel from checking him for attempting to leave without permission.

It’s a cruel thought, but he cannot bring himself to feel sorry for it.

He stops a couple of Stormtroopers on the way back to the bridge and sends them to collect Wilkun’s body. It’s the only gesture he’s willing to make. There isn’t a chance in hell he’d ever step up to comfort Ozzel but he thinks if it had been _his_ friend killed he would wish to be alone. Assuming Ozzel _is_ actually mourning Wilkun back there.

Another unkind thought. Maybe it had been too painful – too horrifying – for Ozzel to look. His and Wilkun’s friendship may have been rather brash and showy but that hardly means it wasn’t genuine.

Piett begins moving at a light jog, wanting to put as much distance between him and the meeting room as possible.

Needless to say there’s no love lost his side, but while he can’t say he’s _happy_ Wilkun’s dead he does feel a spike of validation that the man went like this; unprotected by his status, connections or money in the end.

He quickly reins the feeling in. It could have been _anyone_ in that position. If someone else happened to have shared the same sentiments out loud, or if Wilkun had managed to convince Vader the blame lay with another... _Kriff it_ – it could even have been _him_ left writhing on the floor back there.

When he arrives on the bridge he doesn’t say anything. News travels fast, and soon everyone will learn that he was present when Wilkun was killed. He thinks most people will know not to bother asking him questions, but he expects Veers will bodily drag him to the officer’s lounge for a drink.

He ends up wandering over to the viewports, finding calm in drowning himself in the mass of stars beyond for just a moment. He can admit he’s shaken up. He’d known Vader executed people on the spot for failures or disrespect, but he’s never witnessed it before until today.

He sees Wilkun’s face – that curious last expression he wore before it was cut off forever – and wonders if the man had even been able to see him in that last moment.

He’s called away from his brooding by an ensign, and decides it’s time to go back to work.

~

If Ozzel shed any tears over Wilkun’s death, Piett thinks he must have got them all over and done with. Perhaps the old Core Camaraderie doesn’t count for much after all, or perhaps Ozzel is just giddy that with his friend gone, _he_ has been pronounced admiral.

Piett already knows this won’t be an improvement.

He already has plenty of reasons to dislike Ozzel, but there is another more pressing cause for concern. The new admiral is _not competent_. Like a lot of people who come from money he thinks himself untouchable, and that his achieving high status was mere inevitability. He doesn’t understand Vader – who does, really – and he will make no effort to. Out of all Piett’s superiors he is the haughtiest of them all; a pumped up version of Wilkun but without skill or common sense. A testament to the fact he cannot possibly have been Vader’s own choice for the job. Of course they’re not supposed to talk about it, but Piett knows full well there are two strains of higher command in Death Squadron; those selected by Vader and those selected for him.

Nevertheless Ozzel’s time as admiral begins and Piett is ready to do his duty. He isn’t about to stick his neck out covering for the man, but they _must_ progress in their mission, and soon. It is plain that Vader has a single goal; capture Luke Skywalker alive. And he’s growing impatient.

It is tempting, of course, to deliberately set Ozzel up for total humiliation at the very least. But Piett knows the risks are too high – other people as well as himself could be implicated, and having all these officers dropping like flies is hardly good for morale on board. If they can only satisfy Vader’s demands and quickly, it might afford everyone a bit of stability. Not that they’re likely to feel stable with a man like Ozzel in charge.

But perhaps, Piett muses in the immediate days after Wilkun’s death, if they advance enough in their objective Vader won’t take as much notice of Ozzel’s screw-ups? And if Ozzel merely _thinks_ he’s making all the right decisions, surely it will be enough for him?

It isn’t.

Ozzel has learned absolutely nothing from Wilkun’s execution. He disagrees with Vader on almost everything and takes no particular trouble in hiding it. He has enough sense to be cautious in front of their high-commander – or perhaps that’s just fear – but does not guard his tongue once Vader’s out of sight. He says they’re wasting their time searching for the rebel base – that they should let them come out of hiding and be obliterated by the Empire’s artillery and have done with it. He seems to habitually forget that Vader explicitly ordered Skywalker and his friends to be captured _alive_ , and so therefore – in the event of battle – shooting blindly at every rebel ship in sight would be a fatal error. He contests everything; where they should be searching, their use of resources, the number of ships sent out, which tactical movements to employ in an attack, the amount of money to spend and where... the list goes on.

Piett works harder than ever running to and fro checking things that have been forgotten about or just plain ignored. He makes no complaint – there would be little point in doing so anyway – and he also stubbornly refuses to show things are getting to him. Ozzel has, after all, been promoted to admiral more or less on the Emperor’s blessing. It would be a mistake not to support him publically in any case, but it does make Ozzel all the more insufferable. _He_ believes this means he’s in favour with their ruler, and that therefore Vader can’t kill him. Piett believes it’s simply bought the idiot a little extra time.

Ozzel’s _so_ very terrible that once or twice Piett catches himself wondering if by appointing the man whomever responsible actually planned this – intending for him to fail – and has simply prolonged his demise, knowing Vader’s temper won’t withstand his blunders. Or perhaps it’s to punish the rest of the crew for being unsuccessful – that is possible, because Ozzel does _not_ make things easy on the other officers, either. The military is not for the faint of heart, but the new admiral goes out of his way to be unpleasant, especially to anyone of much lower rank... or those he feels are not _deserving_ of the position they’re in. He thinks he’s ruling through fear, like Vader does. Thinks he’s doing an excellent job.

It would be funny if he didn’t have almost complete authority.

Unlike Wilkun, there is no doubt Ozzel often thinks on the altercation with Piett all those years ago. He never mentions it either, but there’s an amused glint in his eye sometimes when he looks at Piett, and if there is the slightest suggestion of disagreement brewing between them, he always makes a point to get a little too close. He also shouts in Piett’s face a lot; any mistake or misunderstanding enough to cause the tiniest hint of embarrassment and he’s off – yelling and spitting rage – seeming to feel he’s achieving something through it.

Piett finds it helpful to hark back into his early training days, when the slip-up might have been as simple as not turning your bed down properly, or failing to salute accurately. He hadn’t respected his first drill instructor, either, and it’s almost soothing to stand there and watch Ozzel rave and rant, wondering what it must be like to know that’s all he has.

Eventually, while they get absolutely nowhere finding the rebel base, things do settle into a routine of sorts. Ozzel runs things like he thinks half of the ship functions automatically, while Piett delicately tries to steer the man – and therefore many others no doubt – away from certain death. Ozzel has a fit a handful of times a week, but seems quite pleased with the new status quo even with Vader breathing down his neck. He seems to think he has Piett under control now – most likely mistaking his captain’s silence in the face of his tirades as submission.

But even Piett’s tolerance has its limits.

The day Ozzel catches on to what he’s up to, it’s over a disagreement about the frequency of their scans along the Anoat sector. It’s the same problem Wilkun had; the more obscure and unknown the territory, the less willing he was to consider it might be exactly where they should be looking. Rinse and repeat.

When Piett tries to argue his point for the third time, daring to use the word ‘but’ yet again, Ozzel just about stamps his foot in rage. Instead, he grabs Piett by the arm and leads him just beyond the communications consoles to a more secluded area. “Let me _remind_ you,” he hisses, going purple in the face, “of exactly which one of us is admiral!”

Piett can’t even be bothered to try and retract his argument, and instead gives an apologetic nod and says, “Sir.”

Ozzel fumes for a moment longer, looking him up and down with contempt, and then he seems to calm as he looks around them and an unpleasant smirk overtakes his expression. “Of course you have aspirations, and I’ll tell you now to give them up. You seem to have forgotten the little lesson we kicked into you – do you need a reminder?"

Piett blinks. It’s the first time anyone’s mentioned the incident in over fifteen years, and it’s come in the form of a direct threat. But he isn’t afraid. Try as he might Ozzel only ever had the stomach to fight with back up, if he tries anything Piett will be ready. It took three of them to subdue him last time, and Ozzel must remember that – must think he’ll easily find a group to do his bidding like he stepped up for Wilkun. But what he doesn’t realise is that he isn’t surrounded by ‘his sort’ of people anymore. There was evidently only so many Vader would put up with.

Piett may not be afraid, but he is suddenly furious, and for a couple of seconds he considers encouraging Ozzel to do it; to goad him into striking. Maybe they could both just beat on each other until Vader finds them and strangles them both, he thinks almost hysterically.

Good sense wins out.

“I remember, sir,” he says flatly.

Ozzel sneers, and tugs sharply on the hem of his jacket to straighten it. “Listen, Piett. I don’t care about whatever mess up in admin landed you as captain, but you can give up any fancies you’re entertaining for higher command. It’s not for someone like you.”

It’s at that moment Piett realises Vader _must_ kill Ozzel. It may not be today or the next day, but the man is already on a self-built route to disaster with no return. The insult doesn’t infuriate him like it might have done when he was younger, although there is the pang of angered pain – dulled by time and willpower. But he understands now that Ozzel is threatened by him – not because Piett might take his position from him – but because deep down, perhaps only subconsciously, he knows he’s out of his depth. The centre of his disdain for Piett may be his background and lack of breeding, but what galls him more is that in spite of that, this low-born, Outer Rim trash has the audacity to be clever and good at his job. Piett isn’t afraid of Ozzel but he can finally admit to himself he was for a while. The man has done him wrong, and he _wants_ retribution.

Several weeks later when he sees his chance he decides he will push it; a signal that eventually reveals a man-made structure on the apparently deserted planet Hoth. He doesn’t care what Ozzel throws at him, and while he’s not sure if he’s after a promotion anymore, he wants Vader to know _he’s_ loyal.

As Ozzel and Veers walk past he calls the admiral over, loud enough that it should reach Vader by the viewport.

Ozzel is predictably unimpressed. “We have _thousands_ of probe droids searching the galaxy, we need proof not leads!” he says, and Piett starts arguing his case.

“You found something,” booms Vader out of nowhere, interrupting them.

Piett jumps and masks it by going straight into showing him the monitor.

“That’s it,” says Vader firmly. “The rebels are there.”

Piett supposes he shouldn’t be taken aback Vader’s so sure. He might not understand the Force-thing Vader talks about sometimes, but he’s certainly seen enough to know it’s for real.

“My lord,” Ozzel begins about as carefully as he can manage before voicing his doubts, and Piett suppresses a groan. He doesn’t dare look at Veers, knowing his friend will be thinking along the same lines.

“That is the system,” Vader cuts across Ozzel, effectively shutting him up, “and I’m sure Skywalker’s with them. Set your course for the Hoth system. General Veers!” He swivels to face the general. “Prepare your men.” He leaves, shortly followed by Veers.

Ozzel shoots Piett a hateful look, coming to lean into his space, but Vader must have cowed him because he doesn’t say a word before he storms away.

Piett almost smiles.

His minor victory is short lived, however. Angry at being shown up in front of Vader, Ozzel orders a ‘surprise’ attack on Hoth by pulling out of hyperspace almost directly _above_ the planet’s surface. This isn’t anything to do with their mutual hatred anymore; with this single command Ozzel could potentially destroy this one chance they have.

“Admiral,” he calls out urgently. “I don’t think you – ”

“Do as I say, Captain!” is all he gets in return.

~

Just as Vader said, the rebels _are_ on Hoth, and as Piett expects, they have been alerted to their arrival by Ozzel’s bumbling tactics. Ozzel is strangled for his mistake. It happens right beside Piett, with Vader somehow doing it from the _other side of the ship_ , and there’s no time for relief or satisfaction as he is promoted _several ranks_ to admiral, seconds before – he’s certain of it – Ozzel actually dies. While he’s dazed he does not waste time asking why or how. Instead he says, “Thank you, Lord Vader,” and nods like it’s any other day.

When Vader ends the commlink Piett risks a look down at the body. Ozzel is red-faced, eyes dull, tongue lolling, and still with a perturbed expression as though he refuses to believe a man like _him_ could be discarded so easily.

He used to – as Ozzel would have put it – fantasise about being promoted beyond captain, but under the circumstances he isn’t quite sure what it is he’s feeling. For now, he pushes such thoughts away. There is work to do, and the day will bring little respite.

The battle commences on Hoth. Veers’s AT-AT’s prove formidable, and despite some losses and an injury for the general they successfully breach the hideout. Vader himself goes down to the planet’s surface, but with Ozzel’s shenanigans having given them away too soon he does not catch Skywalker. The _Millennium Falcon_ , however, is seen evacuating and the Star Destroyers and TIE Fighters give chase. The light freighter evades much of the firepower and this Han Solo must be a complete lunatic because he flies straight into an asteroid field. It makes Piett wonder if Skywalker is on board with them, or at least someone else who knows how dangerous Vader really is – someone who would rather face being torn apart by floating rocks than be captured by him.

Perhaps the strangest moment during the chase comes when Vader is back on board the _Executor_ , and Piett goes to report to him inside his private chambers.

He’s been here before and is familiar with the meditation pod, but what throws him is that Vader is without his helmet. A bald, pale head covered in scars unlike anything Piett’s ever seen faces away from him as Vader takes oxygen from an external mask. He’s shocked – both at what can see and the fact he _is_ seeing it. Vader must _know_ he’s there; he allowed him entry. Piett can’t recall anyone else mentioning seeing him like this... certainly Ozzel wouldn’t have done because he would have spread it around like wildfire. He catches himself staring when the helmet is lowered back onto Vader and the man is rotated to face him.

He straightens up and fights to keep his face and mind blank.

“Yes, Admiral?” Vader rumbles sounding irritated, perhaps at Piett’s gawking or from the events of the invasion.

“Our ships have sighted the _Millenium Falcon_ , lord,” says Piett, “but – it has entered an asteroid field and we cannot risk – ”

“Asteroids do not interest me, Admiral. I want that ship, not excuses.”

Piett nods, “Yes, my lord.”

When he leaves he’s unclear of what startled him more; Vader's criticism, the old wounds on his skin and the fact he was allowed to see them and live, or that – from what little he glimpsed – Vader appears to be _human_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this first part guys! I mean I kind of intended to write a load of separate characters for Vader to bump off but clearly I’m too lazy to do so. Also Ozzel is kind fun to hate, so *shrug* This also sort of relies on a "oh and they were all in the same place at the same time when they were younger” so you might need some suspension of disbelief there too. Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the responses to this! I'm really enjoying this one. 
> 
> Warning for Piett thinking inaccurate and unflattering things about Mandalorians. Further notes at the end!

The smaller Star Destroyers pursue the rebels through the asteroid field, the TIEs leading the way. It’s clear that the _Millennium_ _Falcon_ must have a damaged or malfunctioning hyperdrive or they would surely have jumped to lightspeed by now, which Piett thinks bodes well. While the freighter is much hardier than its appearance would suggest and its pilot and gunners undoubtedly skilled, there is no way it can outrun the fleet at regular speeds. With every command he gives he stresses that any further damage to it must not be fatal – this is a capture and its destruction would be considered a failure.

Things are looking promising – the _Avenger_ reports that it has the freighter in range, and while Piett wishes it was any other vessel in pursuit he relays encouragement and further instruction as their little sister ship prepares to take the _Millennium Falcon_ in.

Vader rejoins them on the bridge and strides to the viewport, seeming to have heard or sensed the favourable news. Piett is careful to guard his thoughts when he sees him, still extremely curious from what he saw earlier that day. He refocuses on the task at hand, checking in with the information channelling from the _Avenger_ and its TIEs. They’re going to catch them, he realises suddenly. The mission is finally coming to an end, and they have succeeded.

Suddenly there’s a change; something happens – some confusion from the crew pit as the officers struggle to understand the messages – and then finally the next audible words over the comlink are, _“But how – ?”_ and then there’s silence and Piett’s heart sinks.

They _can’t_ fail – _he_ can’t fail – especially not _now_ , so soon. He hasn’t even had a chance to prove himself in his new position.

“I want an immediate update on the _Avenger’s_ progress,” Vader growls at communications officer Terret, who has the all the appearance of a small child from down in the crew pit as he relays the message while also looking very much as though he shares Piett’s suspicions it will _not_ be good tidings.

Maybe this is the price of wishing for Ozzel’s demise, Piett thinks grimly, as the name of every other Star Destroyer followed by “no sighting!” is repeatedly called out.

Some time later, when things are still tense and quiet he’s crossing the security foyer for another useless check of the scanners when he nearly runs straight into Lorth Needa, the _Avenger’s_ captain.

There’s a moment of terrible awkwardness – Needa is white-faced and visibly startled to see him; as though he’d forgotten Piett serves aboard the _Executor_. The two men just stand there in silence for a few seconds, blinking at each other. Needa’s expression morphs from surprise into something closer to embarrassment, and Piett is taken aback when the man opens his mouth as if he’s actually going to speak, which he never does – not to _him_ , anyway. But then Needa’s gaze moves to something over Piett’s shoulder and his eyes widen with trepidation at precisely the same time the temperature dips.

“Captain Needa,” comes Vader’s voice from behind Piett, the words laced with anger. “I do not recall summoning you here.”

Needa quickly moves around Piett; knocking into the shorter man slightly and breaking the strange atmosphere between them. While the collision was most likely accidental Needa does not pause to offer an apology nor does Piett expect one. Instead he recovers neatly from the impact and heads over to the communication consoles like nothing happened, until he gets there and ends up gazing numbly at a monitor. The encounter, on top of everything else going on, has left him shaken and he finds himself vaguely recalling how protocol dictates that they _should_ have acknowledged each other – on Needa’s part more given Piett’s promotion – as if it matters now.

“Lord Vader,” says Captain Needa, his deep voice sounding perfectly calm. “We have lost all sight of the _Millennium Falcon_.”

There’s a pause, during which only Vader’s respirator and the usual noises of ship’s activities can be heard, but Piett can _feel_ the man advancing on Needa. He tries to tune out and concentrates as hard as he can on the scanner feedback console. What is Needa _doing_ , he thinks? Why didn’t he just report to Vader from his own ship?

“Nobody can think how it happened, but it disappeared without a trace,” Needa continues, still steady as anything. “I claim full responsibility for its loss and I offer my sincerest apologies, my lord.”

Oh, dear.

Vader still doesn’t say anything, yet the buzz around them seems to dull for a few moments as whatever is taking place across the room distracts a few and stops many others in their tracks. The air grows thick and still for a second, and then a dull thud sounds.

“Apology accepted, Captain Needa,” drawls Vader, and then he’s making his way over and Piett has to quickly gather himself before straightening up.

As Needa’s body is dragged away Piett stoically confirms they’ve lost all sight of the _Millennium Falcon_ , and states with surety that they _will_ catch up with it.

“Don’t fail me again... _Admiral,”_ is the last thing Vader says to him before sweeping off.

Everyone deflates slightly once he’s out of earshot. A few officers shoot curious and sympathetic looks Piett’s way, which he ignores as he dishes out a few commands of his own. While Vader’s threat still rings clear, Piett tries to settle himself with the knowledge that he gets to live another day. He’s not entirely sure _how_ or _why_ , but he does.

~

In the days that follow he comes to find he’s surprised Vader didn’t spare Needa. Despite holding a lingering allegiance to the self-styled ‘Core Commanders’ (Ozzel and Wilkun among them), Needa had become an efficient captain in his own right; channelling his insatiable aggression into his work with favourable results. He’d become known for being harsh but fair with his subordinates no matter their backgrounds – slightly ironic given that he chose to ignore Piett completely rather than acknowledge the unfortunate episode from their past. In some ways Piett had always been thankful; he didn’t know if he could have faced it again any more than Needa – not even for an apology if the other man _did_ harbour any regret. Needa’s last move before his death could be put down to sheer foolishness, but Piett has to admit it had seemed decent in intent; like the man had genuinely meant to accept all blame and protect his officers from their high-commander’s wrath.

Even so, Vader must be truly irate to have killed him, and Piett is very, very lucky to be alive. In fact, had Needa not come here perhaps it would have been _his_ neck instead. He may not have been the one leading the pursuit of the _Millennium Falcon_ at the time but he is admiral, and usually the one in the direct line of fire. He doesn’t for one second suppose Needa meant his apology to extend any defence to _him_ , but it is an odd thing to consider it ended up doing so all the same.

And what is even more odd to consider, is that they’re _all_ dead – Wilkun, Ozzel and Needa. All three of them.

A foolish thought springs into his head; the kind of notion that a child might entertain.

He dismisses it.

He’s just been thinking about the past a lot in the last few weeks – Ozzel has been a constant, all too eager reminder. Vader had specific reasons for killing him and the other two men. That each of them shared a rather distasteful little link with Piett... well, it didn’t mean anything to _Vader_. They were hardly the only snobs Piett has encountered and they won’t be the last. It’s stupid to imagine that the dark lord would even care what sort of men they were; he valued only what his officers could offer to his cause. He did not socialise or care for any of them on a personal level.

Still, a strange peace overtakes the new admiral for a few moments a day – as he allows himself the grim satisfaction that at the very least he got to outlive them all. He finds he needs it – he’s started having nightmares about it again. It’s so stupid; so idiotic and infuriating that he can’t free himself from the memory. It was a beating; that was all. The kind of thing that was happening every night somewhere when the bars emptied and tempers and alcohol levels in the blood ran high. And he hadn’t even had anything taken – save perhaps for a little dignity – but he’s gained it back.

Perhaps that’s why, although he repeatedly dismisses the idea that keeps bothering him, he can’t help wondering if Vader _knows_ about the incident – he can essentially read minds, after all. He expects Ozzel projected the memory loud and clear whenever Piett annoyed him. Still, he hopes not. The event had been humiliating enough just being between the four of them.

But what would it mean if Vader knew anyway? He didn’t seem the pitying kind. Piett doesn’t want to be pitied for such a stupid thing – he was fine, not even a scar, and the matter was _settled_.

Whatever the truth he needn’t think on it too much, he knows – it _will_ be him next if he fails to deliver. His intuition about the structure on Hoth might have bought him some approval, but he knows these things come with a timer. A little pity – if it exists – will not halt the countdown.

_He_ has no backing or recommendation from anyone powerful. His elevation to command is down to Vader and Vader alone. His death – if or when it comes – will be a truly one-to-one affair. No one will question it. No one will protest – not if they hope to keep breathing.

~

Two weeks after the Battle of Hoth Veers finally returns to the _Executor,_ sporting a limp and some bruises but otherwise looking fit and well. Piett meets him on the landing bay, having secured a few hours off work, and is keen to see the general.

“Hello, Admiral,” says Veers teasingly, and Piett feels himself smile for the first time in weeks.

“General, ” he replies, and is abruptly tugged into a one-armed hug. He laughs, a little embarrassed by the show of affection, but pleased at the contact all the same.

It feels strange to think now but he hadn’t liked Veers when they first met. On the surface the general appeared to merge in with all the other core-worlders with his large build and brash sense of humour. Maximilian Veers _is_ the Empire ideal, really; hailing from a decent planet, a solid education, tall, strong, well spoken, and to cap it all extremely talented and hardworking. He's self-made, but not by ‘too much’. Even Ozzel – a fact that hadn’t recommended him to Piett at _all_ – had admired him.

But after working with the man for the first six months, and when Piett realised Veers’s jokes and persistent invitations to drinks nights were friendly – _actually_ friendly – he’d relented, and Veers has become the person he’s probably closest to.

“How’s the leg?” he asks when Veers releases him.

Veers grunts, patting the offending limb. “Bloody nuisance if you must know.”

“And the rest?”

“Fine. Bit singed here and there.”

They head to Piett’s quarters, discussing Veers’s experiences over the last few days. Piett is pleased to learn that Zevulon got in touch after hearing about Veers’s injuries, knowing that things have always been strained between the two. He can imagine his friend as a forbidding parental figure, but also knows that he cares a great deal for his son.

“We spoke more about you than anything else,” says Veers with a bitterness that isn’t entirely exaggerated.

“About me?” asks Piett. “Why?”

“Well, your big promotion got us onto the subject. He was all over it: ‘Oh yes, Firmus will make a brilliant admiral. He deserves it. Not like all those other toffs in the admiralty’.”

Piett elbows him gently for the pompous impression of Zevulon. “He didn’t say that.”

“Word for word. Couldn’t shut him up – he adores you. In fact I think he’d much rather you were his father than me.”

“Oh, come off it, Max.”

“No, really. He kept singing your praises and then shooting me dirty looks as though I was sullying a lovely moment between the two of you.”

“Well I’m not surprised he was if you had that pathetic look on your face the whole time.”

“Oi!”

Piett’s new quarters are mercifully not the same ones Ozzel had – _he’d_ eagerly moved into Wilkun’s much larger, cushier abode upon becoming admiral – and so Piett was quite happy with his new modest-sized, comfortable room. There’s a double bed – the first one he’s ever had in fact – that he likes to curl up in the centre of on quiet nights. There’s also a cosy living space with two armchairs and a holoprojector beside a round viewport, a private refresher, and most importantly, a small bar.

Piett gets them both a drink and they sit in the two chairs.

“You look exhausted, Firmus,” Veers tells him.

Piett looks at him wryly. “You always say that.”

“Well it’s true. But you look worse.”

“Thank you.”

“How are things here?”

Piett sighs, leaning back in the chair. “We’re so _close_ – I know it.”

Veers nods. “I think everyone does. You can feel it in the atmosphere. Of course, that might just be our leader _motivating_ us, but – I think things are about to change.”

Piett suddenly remembers the incident in the meditation chamber; when Vader had allowed him to see what he looked like beneath the helmet, and he opens his mouth to tell Veers, but then he stops. He recalls red wounds stretched across white flesh, untouched by sunlight in who knows how long, and realises he would inevitably be sharing something he has no right to. Vader’s appearance – his true nature – is unknown by almost everyone. For him to have let Piett see anything of it – assuming it _wasn’t_ a rare oversight on his part – hopefully signals he has some actual trust in him. Piett knows he shouldn’t get ahead of himself, but it had _seemed_ in that moment – despite Vader’s impatience – that there was something curiously fragile in the air between them.

“Now you look like you’re drunk already,” asks Veers knowingly, frowning at him as he places his drink down on the small table between them. “What were you about to say?”

“I’m just... stressed. I don’t know how this is going to end if we don’t find the rebels soon.”

Veers grunts in agreement. “You’re telling me. It’s almost systematic the way people are dropping round here.”

“It _is_ systematic, Max. Everyone who’s died was in command in some way when they failed to deliver what Vader wanted. He killed them.”

Veers looks at him pointedly. “ _You’re_ still here.”

For an awful moment Piett wonders if his friend has spotted the ‘other’ link between the three deaths, but then realises he can’t have done. Veers doesn’t know about that. He shivers. “ – Barely. I think if one other thing had gone wrong at Hoth we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

There’s a pause, and then Veers says, “Do you really think so?”

“Of _course_.” Piett sighs when he sees Veers is just watching him. “What?”

Veers takes another moment before replying, seeming the weigh up his response. “...Did you not think it _strange_ the way you were hustled into Death Squadron – having specifically not applied?”

Piett frowns. “Not really. Plenty of people get drafted who didn’t ask for it.”

“Only if they’re any good, Firmus. And you weren’t just installed in any old position; they didn’t stuff you in some poky little office somewhere. You were made _captain_. I’d say _someone_ sat up and took notice of you.”

“ – What are you trying to say?”

“That perhaps Vader values your talent? Maybe _that’s_ why you’re still alive?”

Piett blinks. He thinks about the moment in Vader’s quarters again. He shakes his head. “That’s exactly the kind of thing that gets men killed – sooner, anyway. Thinking, ‘Oh, I’m safe. Vader wouldn’t hurt me, I’m too good.’”

“That’s not what I mean, Firmus.” Veers sounds serious. “He’s an intense fellow, that’s for sure. But not without reason. I don’t believe he promoted you because you happened to be right there in front of him. And I don’t believe he spared you just because bloody Needa got in front of him first.”

“Max...” Piett begins, not sure he’s comfortable with where this is going.

“Even before all of this he would listen to your opinion over everyone else’s. You were stuck doing paperwork for nearly two _years_ before coming here.”

“Sometimes. _Sometimes_ he listens to me. That doesn’t mean I’m in favour. You know there’s no such thing for Vader.”

Veers continues as though he hasn’t heard him. “He plucks you out from behind the desk no doubt having researched your old hunting days – ”

“I’m sure _he_ personally didn’t – ”

“ – makes you captain of our Lady of all ships, and then the second Ozzel’s down he goes and makes you admiral. That’s _five ranks_ up, Firmus!”

“Yes, I _know_ , but – ”

“Don’t you think it seems as though he – you know?”

“What? Can’t wait to choke me, too?”

“ _No_... As though he wants to... show you off a bit?” Veers gives a rather suggestive nod, and Piett almost reels back.

“ – I think you should get your head checked again.”

~

Veers’s return prompts Piett to look over his personal documents. He got his affairs in order a long time ago – he started with so little anyway there wasn’t much apart from his military papers – but he finds himself digging up his will to check it over. Everything looks acceptable; most of his savings will go to his sister and her children, and then some to his old school on Axxila. He may have had a rough start in life, but they taught and provided for him and many of his family members as well as they could, and they deserve some payback. He adds on a couple of things; a little money for Zevulon – he finds himself endeared by the boy’s championing him – and his reasonable liquor collection to go to Veers.

When he emerges from personnel he feels more determined to prove all those bastards – the ‘toffs in the admiralty’ as Zev would put it – wrong than ever.

He _must_ succeed. If he doesn’t and is killed... what has he really achieved? He’s done well in his career, he supposes, with what he began with but it isn’t _enough_. He wants to show he’s more than a pencil-pushing no name from some backwater planet, desperate to prove himself. Even though... that’s what he is, really, isn’t it?

So, what is it that he really wants? Is this about success – _if_ he succeeds? Is this about validating his past and securing things for his remaining family? Or is this about afterwards; when he might just scrape the chance to find happiness and safety and indulge himself in all the things he’s previously swept aside in favour of work?

The questions trouble him as weeks pass with no sighting of the _Millennium Falcon_ , along with hazy night terrors that begin with him walking down a darkened street, only to hear an angry shout from behind him and the realisation he was not alone.

~

Piett already knows he isn’t going to like the explanation when Vader tells him they finally have a lead. The sight of the two bounty hunters on the Lady’s bridge is all the more offensive for the fact that his high-commander has admitted them on board. He almost feels _betrayed_. Mandalorians have no loyalty to the Empire – they are a secretive and self-interested race – they can’t be relied upon! There will be no reimbursement for damages or loss if things get ugly, either. As for bounty droids – they are frankly _unstable_ , so _why_ are they dealing with them?

The Mandalorian serves one purpose – he tells Vader the rebels are most likely to head to Bespin, and from there it’s a flurry of activity as they prepare for the journey.

“Admiral,” Vader calls him over onto the walkway above the crew pit.

“Yes, Lord Vader,” he says, wishing he was allowed to ask his lord one question with a guarantee of no choking.

“It seems that we cannot underestimate the smuggler’s piloting skills. I’ll leave it to you to organise a team to deactivate the _Millennium Falcon’s_ hyperdrive.”

“Yes my lord.”

Piett nods and goes to turn away, when Vader speaks again.

“You seem restless, Admiral.”

Piett’s heart lurches unpleasantly. Vader commenting upon a person’s mood was never a good sign. “ – I am eager to get to work, my lord,” he says, wincing at how feeble the explanation sounds. It’s not really a _lie_ , at least.

Vader’s helmet tilts up slightly. “Very well. Take care not to overexert yourself.”

Piett swallows and nods again before leaving. While he knows Vader just issued a warning to him, he allows just a small frisson of irritation. He’s ‘restless’ because he could be doing more – _so much more_ – but that doesn’t mean he intends to argue. Surely Vader knows he would never _dare?_ He isn’t Wilkun or Ozzel. He _refuses_ to stamp his feet or make petty demands. He will _always_ do exactly as commanded, doesn’t Vader realise that? And apart from anything else the presence of the bounty hunters galls him because Vader is relying on someone else – is he so desperate? Or is this in part to show Piett his diminishing faith in him? If so, why not just kill him?

Naturally, he takes care not to think any of this until he’s three doors away from his high commander, and he takes just a few breaths before heading down into the crew pit.

In comparison to Hoth their plan for Bespin is handled with the utmost delicacy. Vader has decided everything; he will allow the rebels to think themselves safe on Cloud City, giving them a day or two to allow for Skywalker to catch up (he seems confident the boy isn’t with them), and then conduct an ambush. The _Executor_ will hide close by in case the _Millennium Falcon_ doubles back for any reason, but hopefully after Piett’s team has had a chance to sabotage it.

At first, things go well. Very well.

They arrive at Bespin before the rebels by several hours – the _Millennium Falcon_ apparently limped its way through space when it eventually gets there – and Vader and the Stormtroopers take control of Cloud City.

Piett instructs a group of technicians to go down and disable the freighter’s hyperdrive. He specifies that it be compromised beyond repair, and the technicians nod affirmatively before departing.

Vader succeeds in capturing the rebels and for a while things are quiet. Everyone waits with baited breath.

And then the message comes in.

Skywalker has come to Cloud City, and it’s from there that everything seems to go wrong again just as fast. All Piett knows is that Vader has the man – boy really, from the holos Piett’s seen of him – cornered, and then suddenly reports on all sides of Princess Leia, the Wookie, two droids along with the city’s _administrator_ all escaped start coming in.

Piett remains calm. The rebels may give them another game of chase, but their hyperdrive is deactivated. They will _not_ get away.

For some reason the rebels take their time leaving the planet’s surface, and the explanation becomes clear when Vader rejoins them on board. Skywalker has also got away. Vader orders that the weapons be set for stun, as Piett expected.

Everything’s in place. They’re set and prepared. Piett orders for the tractor beam to be readied.

And then, before his very eyes the light freighter’s engines light up, and it disappears into hyperspace.

He can’t believe it.

He doesn’t understand.

But then he supposes it doesn’t really matter. He’s going to die.

Vader turns from the viewport, giving one last look back at empty space.

Piett watches him, feeling sick. His time has come – too soon. A sentiment felt no doubt by all the officers who have perished at Vader’s hand. How quickly events can turn.

He decides he won’t beg. He won’t apologise. He won’t argue. He’s going to behave like he always does; professionally. This is just another report. Just another bit of bad news.

Vader begins the journey along the command walkway. At the weapons station Piett takes a deep breath and stands straight as... Vader doesn’t stop. The dark lord keeps walking, passing everyone along the command bridge, the security foyer and the main corridor in silence. And then he is gone.

Everyone is quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I know I kinda threw Needa under a bus here which some people may not like. I’ve always been inclined to feel sorry for the dude, but for the sake of the plot I decided to include him as one of Piett's bullies (ex/whatever).
> 
> I also know that Zevulon Veers is a canonical character in the comics but I actually only know him from fan fiction where I’ve become very fond of him, so I’ve included his existence here too.
> 
> Really hope you all enjoy this bit and I'm fairly sure there's gonna be at least two more parts after this because there's a fair of content I haven't touched yet??? But we'll see.


	3. Chapter 3

It takes a few seconds for anyone to move. They’re all wondering if Vader will return, but he does not.

Piett ignores all the stares that gradually redirect towards him, and then he does the only thing he can think of: get back to work. After a quick rendezvous with Captain Salc – Needa’s successor – he sends both the _Avenger_ and the _Terror_ off in the direction of the _Millennium Falcon’s_ trajectory and prepares to start the hunt for any other signs of rebel activity from scratch. While they have failed today, Skywalker _must_ still be alive judging by Vader’s orders to stun only on capture. That means that although this is a setback – a major one – they have not lost all hope.

He, however, suspects that his own time is up. When his shift finally comes to an end, he cannot face the thought of going to the mess hall, and when he returns to his quarters he forgets to order dinner. He spends the next few hours lying wide-awake in bed, processing the day’s events and trying not to think about what awaits him tomorrow.

It’s infuriating. He wants to know _how_ the hyperdrive on the _Millennium Falcon_ was fixed – how it was fixable in the first place after he’d explicitly _told_ his technicians... But it’s no good thinking about that now. It’s done. Skywalker and his friends have escaped, and it’s disastrous news for them all. And besides – he knows the team he sent – they would have done everything they could.

The only thing that went smoothly was the smuggler’s capture and handover. The thought leaves a sour taste in Piett’s mouth: the bounty hunter got what _he_ needed and left, and it’s that vile scum he’s delivering to. Still, it occurs to him then that they may yet have some leverage to lure Skywalker or one of his associates back. In fact, he’s surprised Vader actually allowed the Mandalorian to leave. He could very easily have overpowered him – unless of course in the confusion of the day the bounty hunter slipped away unnoticed?

Who knows – many of the events on Bespin are a mystery and will no doubt remain so forever. Vader will hardly be sitting down with them all in the officer’s lounge to regale them with tales of his adventures.

At the thought of his high-commander, Piett shivers. Whatever emotions kept Vader from killing him on the spot will surely have expired by his next shift. The least he can do is accept total responsibility – like Needa did – so that the new admiral gets the luxury of a fresh start on the job, but he doesn’t _want_ to.

He doesn’t want to die.

He will stand by his resolve to not apologise unless Vader demands it, but if he has even a chance of surviving he must also offer something, and fast. Even just a suggestion of what they might do now to relocate and capture Skywalker might do.

And he thinks the smuggler might hold the key.

The next morning he feels weak with hunger, sleeplessness and fear, but he gets up, showers, shaves and dresses like it’s just another day.

When he starts his shift he finds a general malaise has settled across the bridge. Many of the officers look up as he enters, some with pity, others obviously surprised to see him. Again, he keeps his head down and busies himself with directing everyone into action and starting the paperwork that has accumulated since yesterday, all the while trying not to think too hard about much else. He’s grateful to a young technician who presents him with a caf during his short morning break, and he imagines Ozzel smirking down at him as he fills out a report, and feels a rush of anger again. They came so _close_ yesterday.

He’s devastated, he realises. Absolutely devastated.

At about mid-morning, his comm goes off and he hastily grabs it up.

“Piett speaking,” he says.

_“Admiral Piett, sir – the Emperor is in communication with Lord Vader and your presence is desired.”_

More worried glances come his way, everyone having apparently got the gist of the call.

He takes a deep breath.

The Emperor.

He’s been so worried about what Vader will do to him for yesterday’s loss, but what of higher authority? He’d have thought Emperor Palpatine would be happy to leave any disciplinary action to Vader – but then again – having _had_ the rebels in custody only to _then_ lose them could easily warrant a more official reprimand. He’s never met the Emperor in person but he knows full well that the descriptions of him as a ‘just and merciful leader’ during ceremonies, festivities and anything broadcast over the HoloNet have always been just words. Vader may be his favoured means of terrorising the rest of the galaxy into submission, but Piett suspects that his high-commander is only the tip of a rather unstable iceberg.

He straightens his uniform, keeping his demeanour calm, and begins the walk towards the holosuite reserved for royal communications. He tries to push the dread away in favour of his curiosity. Throughout the search for Skywalker it has been plain this is _Vader’s_ great quest. It’s something more than a simple mission for him; something personal. But Piett wonders if their sovereign will exhibit anything of the same drive and urgency on the matter, and if _he_ will live to witness it.

His breath hitches.

If they mean to execute him now, at least it will be in relative privacy.

He considers what it might be like to die. He was once put in a chokehold as a kid for picking up someone else’s toy speeder – not badly enough to injure him – but it hadn’t been pleasant. Maybe he’ll faint from fear or lack of oxygen before it gets really painful.

When he reaches his destination he finds the doors are shut and flanked by two of Vader’s red guards – a signal that the Emperor himself is calling – and Piett feels distinctly uneasy as he approaches.

The guards merely stand aside, however, and let him through without question. If they _can_ question - he thinks to himself anxiously as he passes them - it’s hard to tell.

He winces as the doors click shut behind him, and walks across the antechamber and into the suite beyond. There is a chill unlike anything he’s ever felt before – even from Vader’s presence. Before setting foot in the space he makes an effort to clear his mind of as much damning thought and emotion as he can.

The first thing that captures his attention is the life-sized holo of a shrouded, slight bent figure, shimmering in blue light upon the holopad. A pair of sunken eyes glint back at him, and a sneer twists the rest of the visage he can just barely make out beneath the hood.

Upon entering Piett stands to attention, and then kneels.

“Ah,” says the Emperor, his voice a high-pitched croak and goose pimples break out across the surface of Piett’s skin. “This must be our Admiral... _Piett?”_

“Yes,” says Vader from somewhere to Piett’s left.

“Rise,” says the Emperor, and Piett does so. “Come closer.”

Piett walks further into the room, stopping a little more than a meter in front of the Emperor’s holoprojection. “Your Majesty,” he says. “It is an honour.”

He spots Vader watching him, about the same distance from the Emperor but to the other side of him. The only indication of movement is the slightly undulating blue light reflected off his armour. There is a slight tilt to his head, almost as though he is confused by Piett’s appearance, but maybe he’s imagining it.

The Emperor ignores his comment and hisses at Vader, “I wanted to get a look at the man you felt a better fit for the job than poor Ozzel.” He glances back at Piett sharply. “Tell me, how were the rebels able to escape yesterday, _admiral?”_

Piett swallows, trying to keep his voice level. “Because they repaired the damaged hyperdrive on board, Your Majesty.”

The Emperor bears his teeth – no longer any pretence of a good humour upon his face. “And how can this be? Did your technicians _fail_ to grasp the orders given them?”

“ – Their report reveals they did everything as instructed, Your Majesty.”

The glinting eyes flare at that. “The rebels’ escape proves otherwise. Unless your _instructions_ were inadequate – or Vader’s commands to you were _unclear?”_

Piett braces himself. “No, Your Majesty.”

Vader speaks then, his voice curiously flat and indifferent. “Calrissian was the previous owner of the _Millennium Falcon_. He may have known how to make such repairs.”

The Emperor waves a hand irritably. “I care not for your excuses. The rebels are lost – for now.” His gaze drifts off to the side for a moment, an even sourer expression overtaking his shrivelled features. When he looks back at Piett, it is as though he is regarding something rather annoying. “I hear you have already begun the search again. You _were_ the one who found their base the first time around, is that correct?”

“It is, Your Majesty.”

“Well, I hear you are _familiar_ with the Outer Rim territories – perhaps your fortune will turn again?” Piett is not sure how to respond to that, but the Emperor speaks again before he can, his voice almost a snarl. “We must have results, admiral. Ones that endure, do I make myself clear?”

Piett nods stiffly. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

The Emperor smirks again, looking him up and down. “Very good. It will be beneficial for our fleet to maintain some permanence for a while.” His eyes flick in Vader’s direction, and Piett tries to ignore the way his heart skips a beat. The Emperor heaves a sigh, and then glares at him again. “Call back the ships you sent after the rebels. I do not need Star Destroyers aimlessly trawling deep space.”

“ – Yes, Your Majesty,” Piett replies, trying to conceal his surprise and disappointment. It was hardly ever _likely_ they would have found them – even if the _Millennium Falcon’s_ hyperdrive malfunctioned again the Star Destroyers would easily overshoot and miss them anyway – but it had felt right to _try_.

For the next few minutes the Emperor quizzes him – mainly regarding whether he will restructure the admiralty, which Piett answers with extreme precaution – and then issues a few commands on how he wants the renewed search conducted.

“You each have your orders,” he finally hisses at both Piett and Vader. “Find the rebels. And make sure you do not become overwhelmed the _next_ time they are in your grasp.”

The hologram disappears before either of them can reply, leaving them in the quiet. Piett releases the breath he’s been holding since he first arrived, and then promptly straightens up when he realises Vader may have noticed.

It appears that Vader is still in the same peculiar mood from yesterday, because he says nothing, still staring at the empty holopad. Piett would guess his commander is far more aggravated by their orders than he is, but he knows better than to speculate too much on that in his company.

“My lord?” Piett asks after a few moments of silence.

Vader’s helmet turns in his direction.

Piett licks his dry lips. “ – May I ask – what of the smuggler?”

“What of him?”

“Is there a plan to retrieve him – as – he may yet prove useful?”

Vader’s head tilts back slightly, making white light stream across his helmet. “You intend to take on the Hutts, admiral?”

Piett considers his response carefully. Going against the Hutts would be a violation of the Empire’s agreement with them – not that _he_ cares for it – and would stoke controversy. But they have the artillery to do it – and nothing usually stops Vader where Skywalker is concerned... and then there’s Vader himself. He, surely, could get Solo back if he wanted to?

“If it was called for, my lord,” says Piett finally.

Vader regards him for a while, and then replies, “The Emperor will not risk jeopardizing the peace with them. Perhaps we may be able to negotiate with them at a later date, but for now we must be patient.”

Piett swallows, aware that the terms ‘peace’ and ‘negotiate’ are loaded on Vader’s tongue. “What if Skywalker attempts a rescue?”

“He does not yet know where Solo is headed. He may guess, but he will not attempt anything soon. He is weak after our battle. He was not ready to face me, nor is he ready to infiltrate the likes of Jabba’s fortress.”

Piett feels a leap of shock, even as Vader’s voice tightens in anger at Jabba’s name.

Skywalker battled _Vader?_ The boy took on Darth Vader and _lived?_

Vader speaks again. “You did not suggest your idea to the Emperor.”

“...I thought it might be unwelcome, my lord.”

Another head tilt. “How so?”

Piett swallows. “ – His Majesty... seems more focused on locating the rebels as a unit. He wants to prioritise locating their base and any other operations. I’m not certain of how Solo is regarded by them, but we now know _Skywalker_ cares for him... that he, at least, would come for him.”

  
As he talks, Piett understands the full weight of what he’s saying, and he finds that – while he means to save his own neck – there is a truth to it. He is stating his loyalty specifically to Vader, directly after receiving the Emperor’s own orders, and the thought sits with him far more comfortably than he could ever have predicted.

Vader breathes in and out, walking closer to loom over him, and then says, “Solo must be delivered to Tatooine.” Piett feels another small stab of disappointment, and Vader continues. “But your gesture has been recognised, Admiral Piett. Am I to understand – that I can still rely on you?”

Piett blinks. Vader isn’t talking about him failing anymore, he realises – not exactly, and he’s also potentially forgiving him – _again_.

“You can, my lord,” he replies, feeling confident for the first time since yesterday.

Vader inclines his head. “Good. We will work together closely.”

As he looks up at him, Piett feels a rush of something through his body – nerves – his mind insists frantically.

Vader’s voice is troublingly knowing as he continues, “You realise this understanding must remain between the two of us?”

Another surge of... _something_.

“ – Yes, my lord,” says Piett as quickly as he can get out while staring up into those black lenses.

Vader nods again. “Good. Return to your work, admiral. I will call upon you soon.” He stalks away, cape sweeping after him.

Piett only dares release the full body-shudder when he knows he’s gone.

-

“Still here, Piett?” asks Commodore Treta as Piett enters the officer’s lounge later that evening. The man is seated with Commanders Peladi and Dyllot, and General Cates.

“That’s Admiral Piett to you, Commodore,” he replies coolly without stopping.

“Not for much longer, I’ll wager!” calls Treta after him.

He hears General Cates growling, “Treta,” reproachfully, and Treta scoffing in response.

Mood somewhat dampened, Piett continues towards the bar. Ozzel might be dead, but there are many remaining in high command that think the way he did, and who probably feel _they_ ought to be the one with his job. He’d never felt especially welcome visiting here as captain, and he knows he won’t now, but he refuses to be cowed by the likes of Treta and his cronies. There are other lounges he usually chooses to frequent, but he’s making a point by agreeing to meet Veers here, and when he spots his friend sitting by a viewport and the way his face breaks into a relieved smile at the sight of him, he knows he’s made the right decision.

“Firmus!” booms Veers, standing up and limping up to him for one of his tight embraces. “Glad to see you’re all right.”

He lets Piett go, and the smaller man shrugs. “Well, I haven’t been strangled yet.”

“I _knew_ you wouldn’t be.”

Piett raises an eyebrow at him. “You didn’t really _know_ that.”

Veers slings an arm around his shoulders and herds him towards the bar. “Yes I did, I’m always right.”

Piett orders a scotch and then they take a seat, a little way off from all the other occupied tables.

“How was your audience with the Emperor?” asks Veers, keeping his voice low.

“It was – fine. He did check me for yesterday, of course, but... I seem to be getting a second chance.”

“ – That’s... that’s good.”

Piett side-eyes him. “I thought you _knew_ I’d be all right?”

“Vader is one thing. The Emperor is... another matter.”

Piett snorts. “That’s true.”

Veers frowns. “Look – you must be able to see there’s something more going on here. Ozzel and all that lot – they’ll answer to Vader when it suits him, but they’re the Emperor’s men. They’re not... _believers_ where Vader’s concerned. But you – I don’t know what you believe, but you understand what he’s asking and you’re too damn modest for your own good. It’s no wonder you’re still alive.”

Piett raises an eyebrow, pointedly looking down into his scotch and feeling that particular kind of guilt at being unable to share information with his friend. Meeting the Emperor has only confirmed that Vader's interests lie almost entirely - _purely_ \- with Skywalker. And while he has no inkling of why that might be, he finds he is somehow compelled to assist. It should seem ridiculous - selfish, even - but it doesn't. He feels almost as though he has been _invited_ to be a part of this... whatever _this_ is. He remembers Vader's parting words to him earlier that day, and feels himself grow hot under the collar.

“What do you think of him?” he asks Veers suddenly, swigging some of his cool drink down. _“Really?”_

Veers looks at him. “Vader?”

Piett nods.

Veers sighs, pausing for a moment before speaking again. “...He’s a brilliant strategist. I think he makes a better comrade than he does a _leader_. You know, he’s not the best at... _managing_ his crew, but he does fight _with_ us. Not behind us, or just... in spirit.”

His voice has lowered again. The treasonous words carry no further than Piett’s ears, and it’s extremely fortunate, because at that moment Treta is making his way over to the bar, scowling at the pair of them as he passes.

He understands Veers’s meaning, though. They are Death Squadron. The job is their duty and destiny; an inevitable risk. They go where they’re told. Do as they’re ordered.

But having finally met the Emperor and received his instruction directly, he has never felt more like simple fodder to their sovereign’s eyes. Were the _Executor_ to go up in flames Piett has a feeling the only thing he would mourn is the loss of artillery.

“I agree,” he says softly, and Veers nods his head once, closing the subject for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for staying with this guys! Really enjoying this one, and yes it got a bit longer than I intended but I think it will be only one more chapter. Hope you enjoy!! :D


	4. Chapter 4

Gradually things return to, not exactly _normal –_ given that Ozzel is no longer there to throw his weight around constantly, and Vader mostly keeps to his newfound solitude – but Piett can feel everyone beginning to settle into the new routine with each passing day. Oddly though it _does_ remind him a little of just after Wilkun died, when everyone had suddenly had to adjust for the newly arranged command, except this time they’re mostly winding down instead of being roared at to make it seem as though things are happening. Of course they were never supposed to be _relaxed_ on board exactly, but Piett strives for a vigilant yet composed crew and environment, and for the most part it seems to be working. Although they are still under the same pressures as before, even Vader himself seems to have accepted they are pretty much back to square one.

Piett doesn’t spend a lot more time with him at first. As is customary he reports to him at least twice daily, the only major change being that he usually goes to Vader’s private chambers to do so. For the first few weeks after Bespin there is nothing remarkable about these meetings despite their newfound understanding. They discuss their progress; occasionally one of them will have an instinct about where to check for leads (although Piett is _very_ cautious about doing so) but without much expectation of an actual find yet.

Despite his battle with Skywalker, Vader does not seem to think it will change anything about how likely they are to come across him and the rest of the rebels. Piett is happy to trust his instincts but he’s still rather perturbed at how the matter with Han Solo was handled. He honestly hadn’t expected Vader to honour any agreement with the bounty hunters, at least not until Skywalker was definitely in his custody. The final word on the matter, he suspects, _must_ have come from higher up.

Vader neither confirms nor denies anything, and Piett does not ask. As eager as he is to know more about his high commander he finds the same cannot be said where the Emperor is involved. Even their appearances, both striking and intimidating, affect him differently. It’s said that Palpatine’s strange visage was the result of an attack many years ago, but whatever the precise injuries received they seem to have manifested very differently to Vader’s. There is something about the claim that does not quite satisfy Piett – maybe it’s the cruel, hissing drawl of his voice, or the frenzied hatred emanating from him that fits the leering exterior rather too well.

Piett’s exchanges with Vader and Veers that day would certainly mark all of them as traitors, and the more he thinks about it the less of a shock the idea seems. The conversation around one’s faithfulness to the Empire was always centred on whether a subject could be trusted by the Emperor, but not if the Emperor could be trusted by their subjects. And Piett imagines that the answer to the latter is absolutely not.

With each day that passes, the sourer the memory of his first meeting with Palpatine becomes. He wonders what sort of terrible power could be keeping someone like Vader in (relative) check, and again finds all the possibilities that spring to mind too frightening to dwell on. He is distracted, however.

He must be careful. His newfound fascination with Vader is likely dangerous, and he mustn’t forget that if he fails in some way over the next few weeks it could still be the last straw. He must not begin to assume that they share some kind of special relationship now, and indeed their private meetings remain straight forward and to the point. Nothing very different from how they communicated before.

  
Things remain basically the same until the day Piett is marching along to Vader’s quarters, when someone abruptly steps out in front of him, cutting him off.

Immediately, Piett grabs the person by the collar, yanking them down to his own level as he readies his hand to strike.

“ – Wha – wha – just what the _hell_ do you think you’re doing, Piett?!” squawks Commodore Treta, his smug expression completely vanished in favour of cowering at the sight of Piett’s raised fist.

Piett’s heart is thumping heavily, his skin still prickling with alarm. Humiliation begins to sink in as he recognises Treta, and then where he is. He lowers his arm and releases the taller man. “Commodore Treta, my apologies,” he replies mildly, already knowing there is absolutely nothing he can say that will fix _this_. “How may I help you?”

Treta reels back from him, massaging at a probably cricked neck and glaring. “You can never come near me again, you moron!”

Piett nods. “Please do not step out in front of me like that in future.” He turns and continues walking away.

“He’s a bloody hooligan!” the commodore howls at some passerby.

Piett keeps moving, utterly furious in that moment with Treta for existing, and with himself for losing control.

He’s sweating; maybe from the scare or the embarrassment, he isn’t sure, and he feels slightly nauseous. He tries to breathe deeply and evenly as his feet carry him almost automatically towards his destination.

It’s not like he doesn’t understand what just happened or why. For a while he’d thought he was over this, but in wake of Bespin his nightmares have grown more and more frequent. They aren’t always specific, but they are violent and he knows full well what lies at the root of most of them. It seems odd that he hasn’t moved on in some way – even transferred his subconscious fears completely onto Vader who is a more immediate and deadly threat. But strangely enough, he hasn’t – not even during the fraught weeks between Hoth and Bespin when he was _really_ terrified for his life. Nevertheless, he is positive that some mornings he recalls his high commander’s shadowy presence from somewhere along the perimeter of his sleeping mind.

For some reason the idea does not bother him.

He arrives the elevator he needs sooner than he expected, and takes a few more moments to breathe in and out, soothing his still pounding heart and trying to stem the resounding mortification as best he can. For a moment there is a hint of bitter satisfaction that Treta may have been frightened off his case for a while, but then he comprehends that the episode will probably be being talked about in the officer’s lounge for some time.

He sighs and looks at the elevator controls, trying to stop his shaking by clenching his hands. He cannot be late, and Vader will wish to get to business.

After riding the elevator up, Piett steps out and walks in the direction of Vader’s quarters. Soon he spots the doors and the guards on either side of them. These two are death troopers, and Piett wonders for a moment why the red guards are not always used instead or vice versa. Vader is rarely accompanied by any kind of security, and it’s hardly surprising. You would have to be a fool or a madman to attack him.

As usual, the doors open for Piett without him even saying anything and he walks through, stands to attention and then descends the shallow steps into the room.

The meditation pod is open, but empty. Its glowing interior, and the idea of shutting himself away from the world feels extremely inviting to Piett as he moves past it.

Vader is standing towards the other end of the chamber with his back to Piett, staring out of the view port. It reminds the admiral of the day they lost the _Millennium Falcon_ again, and he shivers. Vader turns as Piett comes to a halt before him.

  
“Lord Vader, I have this morning’s report,” says Piett, wishing not for the first time that his voice were a little deeper.

Vader raises a hand. “In a moment, admiral,” he says taking a couple of steps towards him. “Something is troubling you.”

Piett’s stomach does a little flip. “ – My lord?”

“You are agitated.”

“Oh – I...” Piett hesitates. He isn’t terribly keen to share his embarrassment but he expects it will get about soon enough. And, he realises with another unpleasant sensation in his belly, what with Treta probably telling everyone he’d attacked him it could get serious. Still, he knows grovelling will not appeal to Vader, and so he’d better play it down as his own misstep. “I’ve had a bit of an awkward encounter, my lord.”

  
“An _awkward_ encounter has caused your current state?”

Piett tries to cease his internal cursing, realising he must look as shaken as he feels. “It’s just... I was taken by surprise and I... may have overreacted.”

Vader regards him for a moment. “If you do not wish to share, do not force yourself.”

Piett nearly falls over. Vader had just said that, right? Did he really mean it? He _can’t_ have done. “It’s... all right, my lord, but... I should probably tell you before it gets about – just now someone blocked my way in the hall and I... almost struck them.”

There’s a beat. “You _almost_ struck them?”

“Yes – I wasn’t expecting it and I just reacted automatically. I grabbed him and – well, I didn’t go through with it, and I let him go as soon as I realised, but... rather understandably I think he got the wrong impression.” Piett gulps, remembering the flash of blind terror and rage as he made sure to be ready, and then the horrid moment of recognition. He prepares himself to explain how he intends to put this to rights, knowing full well Treta will likely not accept anything other than his resignation and exile to some god-forsaken moon on the Outer Rim. “...It was my own fault, my lord, and I understand I displayed a loss of self-control that is not befitting my station.”

“Why did this individual block your path?” asks Vader, and despite not expecting the question, Piett winces. He’d meant to pretend the blocking hadn’t been deliberate – but he suspects Vader has already sensed the truth, and lying will _not_ be rewarded.

“ – I’m afraid I didn’t find out, my lord. I’m sure it was nothing.”

An odd, doubtful noise sounds from Vader’s vocoder at that. “Incidents described as ‘nothing’ where the other party goes unnamed do not reassure me. Why am I beginning to feel I ought to be concerned, Piett?”

He does not sound irate yet but Piett swallows, feeling humiliation begin to burn across the surface of his skin again. “There... _is_ a personal difficulty between myself and this officer, but I generally try not to engage with him. Of course – that’s why I fear he may have interpreted it as a confrontation on my part, which is unfortunate.”

“Deliberately cutting you off suggests this person _sought_ a confrontation, and given that you are currently the second highest-ranking individual on board, also displays a lack of respect.”

Piett bites his lip. He’d sort of forgotten that detail. He sighs slightly. “Yes, my lord. I suppose it does.”

“Why might that be?”

“This – officer, he... has been openly against my promotion to admiral, and I _assume_ that’s behind why he wanted to stop me, although I’m not sure of that.”

  
Another pause. “So, he has caused you problems before.”

“Since my promotion he has been outspoken against it, my lord.” This was not _entirely_ true, but Vader was hardly going to be concerned with a bit of name-calling, and anyway, Piett could handle it. “But nothing more.”

_“I_ have had yet to hear complaints about you.”

“Well, perhaps he will formally query my promotion now.”

“And what _were_ his initial protests?”

“Well, you know... me becoming admiral – I suppose it was always going to raise a few eyebrows, my lord.”

Vader’s voice tightens dangerously. “Your promotion was on _my_ authority. Who is this man or anyone else to question it?”

Piett tries hard not to grimace. “...You know how it is in the admiralty, my lord – there are many opinions about who is in command... and I _was_ promoted several ranks up – ”

“All the more reason they should trust my confidence in that decision. If they do not, these people should come to _me_ with their complaints.”

“...I suppose some just assumed it would be temporary, my lord.”

“Temporary? They believed I would make you admiral for a month?”

“I think it was more that they believed I wouldn’t... _last_ a month, my lord... not just in the job.” It is distinctly uncomfortable referring to Vader’s track record with his officers, and Piett sees Wilkun, Ozzel and Needa’s terrified faces flash before his eyes.

“And so this scum presumed to attack you?”

Piett blinks, surprised at the phrasing and venom in Vader’s words. “ – Not _attack_ – ”

“You interpreted it as such.”

Ah, _now_ they came to it. “As I said, lord, I overreacted. It was irresponsible and – ”

“You went to defend yourself.”

“ – Yes, my lord, but that’s really nothing do with Treta. He has his opinions but he’s not the fighting type.”

“I see, so it’s the _commodore_ who has been critical of my choice!” Vader’s voice rises triumphantly, and Piett’s eyes widen as he realises his slip up.

He hadn’t wanted to name Treta right now. Given the way Vader has taken all the news it will look like Piett’s gone crying to him, and that will not invite sympathy from a big proportion of high command. He steels himself and tries again to refocus the conversation. “My lord – I am _certain_ that his quarrel lies solely with me and not you.”

“Indeed? And what is it about you that Treta finds so offensive?”

“Well, we’ve never been _friendly.”_

“Does he base his criticisms on your _performance_ as admiral, or solely on the fact that you are now in the position? Given that I gave it to you, you don’t think the latter would suggest his quarrel very much _is_ with me?”

Piett’s fear is quickly giving way to confusion. This discussion really hasn’t gone the way he’d imagined. He understands Vader’s anger at being ‘challenged’ for promoting him, but this all seems rather... _overblown_ to say the least. Surely his lord would have known this kind of gossip would surface?

“Who else?” asks Vader suddenly.

“ – My lord?”

“Who else takes issue with you?”

With Vader in this mood Piett does not want to invite it towards himself, but he really, really can’t have Vader blasting through half the admiralty looking for those who might have looked at him funny once or twice. “I really believe it’s mostly just loose talk between officers, my lord. I’m not the only one on the receiving end – it’s a competitive place.”

The atmosphere in the room finally seems to relax just slightly at that. “You are trying to pacify me,” says Vader, and Piett tenses again. “I do not need to explain to you why I have no wish for another Ozzel on my ship.”

Yet again it’s jarring to think about his predecessor – not least to discuss him with the man’s own executioner. “I understand, my lord. If it helps, Treta wasn’t even friendly with him. According to Max they had an extremely tedious rivalry.”

Vader looks at him. “ – General Veers?” he says eventually.

“Oh – yes, forgive me,” Piett corrects himself hastily. He’s making a lot mistakes today, it seems. “The General.”

“...You and he are close?”

“ – We are friends, my lord.” Piett feels uneasy again. There’s something odd about the way Vader asked the last question, and with how he is still staring. He worries suddenly that perhaps Vader does not _want_ him and Veers to socialise given this new secrecy between them.

When Vader doesn’t say anything more Piett clears his throat. “My lord, I... understand that you are offended by Treta’s stance, but it is a common enough problem among the admiralty. Most of us are happy to keep the peace, and, well – I too have compromised it today.”

Vader is still for a few moments longer, and then finally whirls around to face the viewport again. “Your report, admiral.”

“ – Ah.” Piett shakes his head, remembering why he came here in the first place. “Yes, my lord.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I lied. The NEXT part will be the last one XD
> 
> Also I still can’t read or hear the word ‘commodore’ without thinking of POTC. Thanks so much for reading guys!


End file.
